“Let me handle that. You’re home tomorrow. And be ready for that meeting. We’re not about to do anything to jeopardize Curtis coming back home. We’ll make this work. I can get a few extra guys from SWAT. Besides, I don’t think it’s going to get messy. I can do without one of my enforcers for one bust.” God didn’t wait for him to agree or disagree. He turned and left the office. It was settled. He desperately wanted to be there to see Chainz go down, he really did. But he wanted to see his boy at home way more. His boy.
Foster Home or the Bates Motel
Ruxs sat in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the visiting room waiting for Curtis to come in. The boys’ home looked just like any other home. It was in a nice enough neighborhood, but the houses were at least sixty or more years old. There was a small park about a block up, with a basketball court and a baseball diamond. If he’d known that was there, he would’ve brought their gloves and a ball.
The house looked big enough to have maybe five or six bedrooms. Really no telling how many boys they packed into each one. They’d walked up onto the rickety wraparound porch and rung the bell. A stocky woman came to the door with a paisley-print apron tied around her waist, eyeing them carefully. They were in their regular clothes but the guns and badges were probably unnerving.
“Can I help you officers?” she said still not opening the screen.
“I’m Chris Green and this is Mark Ruxsberg we should be on the visiting list to see Curtis Jackson,” Green said quickly. He was craning his neck to see past her, trying to see what all the commotion was that could be heard coming from farther inside the house. Ruxs could hear some guys yelling back and forth, and while he couldn’t quite make out the words, it sounded hostile.
“I need to see your IDs,” she said sternly.
They both held out their badges along with their picture identification for her. After her beady eyes focused on them for several seconds, she shut the door without a word, leaving them standing there staring at a wooden door.
“What the fuck?” Green snapped.
“Hold on. I think she’s probably going to check the list or she’s going to call Curtis down to see us.”
“Outside,” Green said incredulously.
“Babe. I don’t know. Just calm down. We don’t want Curtis to see you upset.” Ruxs was still rubbing Green’s shoulders when the woman flung the door back open. She gave them a skeptical, slightly baffled look before unlatching the screen and holding it open for them. The commotion had died down by the time they entered the house.
“You can wait in there. You’re allowed to visit for one hour. Lunch is at noon. If he wants to eat he can’t be late,” she said turning to leave.
“Can we take him out to eat?” Green asked hopefully.
“None of the residents can leave the premises without prior written approval,” she said loudly.
Ruxs saw Green grinding his teeth trying to tamp down his anger. “Yes ma’am,” Ruxs said, wanting her to move along and get Curtis.
“Can we go up and get him?” Green asked stepping towards the door.
The look she gave them had Ruxs standing and moving closer to his partner. “We’ll wait here,” he said before she could answer them with a negative response.
She left, closing the door solidly behind her.
“Bitch,” Green hissed. Ruxs put his arms over Green’s shoulders, pulling him against his body.
“I know this fuckin’ sucks. But it’ll be over soon,” Ruxs whispered against his temple, stroking his large hands up and down Green’s arms. They stood there, still quietly holding and consoling each other when the door opened. The heavyset greeter was standing there, her gaze riveted on something down the hall.
Ruxs’ heart jumped as he waited for his friend to turn the corner and come inside. His face dropped when he heard the voices of several older kids laughing, walking by teasing, “Oh lookie, fag boy’s got company already.”
Green’s body vibrated instantly beneath his touch. His eyes the color of black granite and simmering with his anger. “What the fuck is going —”
Green’s voice dropped as Curtis turned the corner and stepped inside the room searching frantically for them. His usual bright-blue eyes were bloodshot red and wide with either fear or possibly shock. His hair was a disheveled, tangled mess and his skin was so pale he was ashen. It literally looked like the beautiful spirit that was Curtis had been sucked right out of him. The shirt he’d left in very early this morning had a tear in the collar like someone had yanked him by it, which was most likely case since he had an angry bruise on his cheek and a dark mark under his left eye.